


do you want me to be subtle or do you want me to be blatant?

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4207902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what if nick and harry didn't tell sam that the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OM1RXwfLhVs">call or delete</a> was a prank?</p>
            </blockquote>





	do you want me to be subtle or do you want me to be blatant?

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr, feb. 2014 
> 
> come say hiya [here](http://www.ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com)!

“You’re  _sure_  you’re not having me on?” Sam says, as she tries on a pair of giant sunglasses. They’re at the antique market and so far Nick’s found fuck-all to buy, but he has been successful in convincing Sam he’s hopelessly in love with Harry Styles, so he’ll count the day as a win.

Nick flicks them with a finger. “Those are cute. And no, I’m not having you on." 

"It’s just - it’s  _Harry_." 

"He’s sweet,” Nick says, hiding a grin in the knitted scarf he’s trying on. “Like, I feel like we could be quite good together." 

The joke’s a bit more flat when Harry’s not there giggling at him across the studio. But it’ll pay off. 

"Maaaybe,” Sam says, eyeing him. “That scarf’s weird. I read somewhere you’re not supposed to buy scarves secondhand, coz, like, all the mouth germs from sick people get caught in the fibers? And you can’t wash it out. So you could get like whooping cough?" 

Nick’s momentarily distracted from his plan. "Are you  _serious_? That’s disgusting!" 

"I know!” she says, yanking the scarf off his neck. “I’m saving your life, Grim." 

"Wasn’t cute anyway,” Nick huffs, dropping it back on the pile. 

“So, anyway, back to Harry. What do you want me to  _say_?" 

"Just, I don’t know! Ask him to dinner or something,” Nick says. 

“For you?" 

"I dunno,” he says. “Maybe? I guess, like, you could say we’re all going to dinner? And then pretend you have to leave, so it’s not awkward, but then we’re alone at the table." 

"You’re such a twelve year old!” she laughs. 

“Oi, this could be the love of my life we’re talking about, alright? I just want to, like, suss out what he’s feeling. But I can’t  _ask_  him without it being awkward." 

She sighs long-sufferingly, smearing lipgloss over her lips. 

"Fine." 

"Thanks, Sam, you’re such a doll." 

"How about Friday?" 

"I could ask him,” Nick says quickly. “If he’s still in town. What about that Mexican place you were at before? How was it?" 

Harry’ll like that. Poetic symmetry, and all that. 

"Noo, gave me gut-rot,” she says, widening her eyes warningly, and Nick wrinkles his nose.

“Ugh, good to know,” he says. “Um. What about Italian?" 

"Romantic!” she laughs. “Get a couple of glasses of red wine in him, he’ll talk." 

"Right?” Nick says, wiggling his eyebrows, and then changes the subject. 

—

Sam’s actually quite smooth about it in the end. Lou looks irritated to have been dragged along, but she comes. 

They sit down at a four-top in a little Italian place in Camden. Harry won’t stop grinning, and Nick has to kick him under the table. 

“Would you like to order a bottle of wine?” the waiter says, and Sam looks pointedly at her sister. 

“Umm,” Lou says, dully, and digs out her phone from her purse. “Oh, shit. Tom’s calling, he says Lux just sicked up everywhere. Oh, no. I better go see what’s wrong.”

“Do you want me to help ya?” Sam cries, in a very forced voice. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Lou says, shooting Nick an unimpressed look, and she scrapes her chair back. 

In a moment, they’re gone. The waiter looks shell-shocked. 

“Um,” he says. “Would you like to move to a smaller table?" 

"Oh, it’s fine,” Nick starts, and Harry says, politely, “Yes, please. That’d be nice." 

Nick pulls a face at him, but follows Harry to a two-person table. Harry orders wine, somehow - the child has a preternatural instinct for good alcohol that Nick quite envies - and then sits back in his seat, a grin slapped over his face. 

"They totally bought it,” he says, kicking at Nick’s calf under the table. “Nice work, Grimshaw." 

"Why, of course,” Nick says grandly. “Anything for a prank. How long should we let it go on, do you think?" 

"A bit longer,” Harry murmurs, smiling at him. “C'monnn, they’re falling so  _hard_  for it. Don’t give in now.”

“I’m up for it,” Nick says, as the waiter pours Harry a taste of the wine. Harry swirls it around in his mouth and nods solemnly, like a tiny muppet-haired sommelier. 

Nick rolls his eyes and takes a sip once it’s poured. Ooh, it is quite nice. 

“You’ve got to throw a party, next,” Harry says excitedly, leaning forward, and now he seems less like a mature wine-knowledgeable adult and more like a thirteen year old at a sleepover. “Tell Sam to start up a game of, like, truth or dare. Or spin the bottle. Oh my god, she’ll go mad.”

“Seven minutes in heaven,” Nick suggests,  _joking_ , but Harry grins, points at him. 

“Yesss. Do that." 

"You’re completely mental,” Nick says fondly. “You know that, right?" 

"Sorry I’m better at pranks than you,” Harry says, mild, but his eyes are squinted, all cheekily, a dimple lurking in one cheek. “You going to wuss out?" 

"Absolutely not, Harry Styles.” Nick takes a defiant gulp of his wine to prove his commitment. “A party it is." 

"Good,” Harry says softly, smirking to himself, and then - “So, how’s the show going?" 

Nick starts into a story, complete with hand gestures that make Harry nearly snort wine through his nose, and they don’t bring up the party again. 

—

A couple days later he texts Harry. 

_you around_? 

_Noo i’m in manchester. what’s up?_ Harry writes back right away. 

Nick’s on his sofa watching telly. There is truly nothing up. He kind of just wanted Harry to come over, and possibly bring food. 

_you still want me to throw that party? with poor darling sam??_

He puts his phone down, licks his finger and goes for the crumbs at the bottom of his packet of salt-and-vinegar crisps. Whatever, no one’s there to see him. At least he’s not drinking them. 

His phone buzzes. 

_yes!!! don’t forget to tell her to play 7 min in heaven_

Then Harry sends three devil emojis and a sunglasses-face. Nick laughs down at his phone. 

_alright popstar will do. how bout next sat?_

Harry texts back a yes and Nick shakes his head, switches the channel over to X Factor and texts Sam. 

_okay babe. part 2 of the plan!! dinner was SO nice i have a feeling he really fancies me but i don’t know how to bring it up! i’m going to have a party at my flat next weekend can you come and like.. help out a bit?? xxxx you’re an angel_

He adds a couple emojis - one heart, an angel face, and a nervous face for good measure- and sends it off. 

Sam sends back -  _reaaaaally? oh my god what did he say? sure i’ll help aw but like how do u think?? who should i invite? fri or sat? what time?? aaha!_

Nick feels a twinge of guilt. Poor love. But Harry insists, and it’s  _funny_ , Nick’s sure she’ll think it’s funny in the end. Hopefully. 

_he was just really flirty i dunno! invite like lou and your mates. i think maybe we could play a game? 7 min in heaven or something. give us a mo alone? haha x_

He’s going to hell. Oh well. 

He adds:  _i think saturday like 9pm or so??_

Sam - the angel - has it all set up within the hour. Nick’s impressed. 

There will be a fully-formed party at his place next Saturday at 9 pm, with the express purpose of getting him together with Harry Styles. God, Nick has good friends. He might have to do this again, if there’s someone he’s really trying to get with. 

Though, now he thinks about it, he’s probably using up all his good will on this stupid prank. 

Shit. 

"Better be worth it, popstar,” he mutters to himself, and texts Harry the good news. 

—

Nick nearly thinks it’ll all go pear-shaped on Saturday. Harry won’t stop  _laughing_ , is the thing. He keeps giggling, when Nick pours him a drink, and when Nick says, low, “Stop laughing, idiot, she’ll know something’s up." 

And then Sam pops her head into the kitchen and says, "Baaabes, we were about to start a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, you in?" 

"Absolutely!” Harry says readily, and Nick kicks him behind the counter. He chokes. “I mean. Um, sure." 

"How about you, Grimmy?” Sam asks, and wow, she really is a terrible actor. She raises her eyebrows, and Nick blushes despite himself.  _I have the upper hand here_ , he reminds himself.  _Technically_. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says, like it’s a trial, and follows Harry out of the kitchen. 

Sam’s got it all sorted, apparently, because on the second round - the rules are a bastardized mix of spin the bottle and truth and dare and some sort of drinking game with playing cards - Nick ends up at the end of the bottle, Harry smirking at him from across the circle, one hand outstretched after his spin. 

“Well,” Harry says, playing dumb, taking a long sip of his drink. “What’s this mean, then?" 

"Seven minutes in heaven, silly!” Sam says, giving Nick an anxious look, like,  _now’s the time!_  "With Grimmy.“ 

"Every minute I spend with Nicholas Grimshaw is heaven already,” Harry says, solemnly, and Nick sticks out his tongue. 

“Go on then,” Sam says, nodding over at the coat closet. “We won’t listen." 

"Sure you won’t,” Nick says, still a bit- confused. Isn’t the jig up, then? He’s about to open his mouth and spill the beans when Harry says, “C'mon then. Nick. Them’s the rules." 

"Ahh, such a hardship,” Nick says sarcastically, but when Harry holds out a hand to help him up, Nick - goes. 

“Start the timer, Samantha!” Harry yells behind them, shutting the door of the closet behind them, and they’re bathed in darkness. Nick’s a little tipsy, and he nearly stumbles over a shoe, falls into the wall - Harry’s hand warm on his arm, steadying him. 

“Well,” he whispers, feeling conspiratorial. “Should we start making really terrible loud sex noises, just to drive them mad?" 

Harry smiles at him, barely visible in the dark, and it’s - weird, not being able to see him. He can feel Harry’s hand on him and he can feel Harry breathing, but it’s like - it’s strange, like his other senses are heightened. He can hear Harry lick his lips. For some reason, that makes Nick’s stomach do a nervous flip, like he really is a fourteen-year-old in a coat closet with the boy he fancies. 

Not that Nick ever played this when he was young. No one would really have him then. He more stayed inside on weekends and listened to music and had prolonged sexual fantasies about the fit actors off his mum’s soaps. 

"Sam would absolutely die,” he adds weakly. Harry nods, makes a thoughtful sound, steps closer to him. His hand slips from Nick’s arm to his waist, touching the flat of Nick’s stomach above the waistband of his jeans.  _Oh_. A hot spark travels straight down to Nick’s groin, and he huffs out a breath.  

“Harry,” he says. “Love, I appreciate your commitment, but we don’t actually have to -  _mmph_." 

He’s cut off by Harry pressing their mouths together, hot and sloppy and a bit off-center in the dark. 

"Oh, god-  _Harry_ ,” Nick manages to say, jerking away. His lips are tingling and his arms have flushed up with goosebumps. “What are you doing?" 

Harry puts his hand up Nick’s shirt like a horny teenager, gropes around a little. Nick tries not to shudder. 

"Dunno,” Harry says, softly, breathing against Nick’s mouth. “Kissing you?" 

"Is this for the prank?” Nick says, feeling fear slip inside his chest like ice. It’s not that he’s never _thought_  about it, trying it out with Harry. Thought about it quite a bit, actually, he’s just never had the bloody nerve. 

But if it’s just a joke, to Harry. If it’s just to fool Sam, to come out with their mouths red and cheeks flushed and then tell the whole thing, Nick might be sick. 

Harry pulls him closer by the small of his back. 

“Harry,” Nick demands, feeling paranoid and silly and still quite entranced by the soft heat of Harry’s mouth, inches from his. “Is this just for a laugh?" 

"No,” Harry says, low, his voice rough. “Does it look like I’m laughing?" 

"I don’t know,” Nick says honestly. “Harry-" 

"It’s not for a laugh,” Harry says, firm, his rumbly voice setting off some kind of domino effect of arousal in Nick’s chest, the sensation trickling down to his toes. God. “I want to kiss you, in this closet, and then I want to take you to bed. Can I?”

Nick has the distinct feeling that he’s the one who’s meant to be saying those sorts of things. Adult things. 

But he couldn’t really care less. Right now he feels about sixteen, and just as bloody intoxicated by the prospect of sex, like he’ll cream his jeans if he’s given half the chance. 

“If this is for a laugh, I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Nick says, as a last weak defense, and Harry rolls his eyes. Nick can’t see it, but he can  _feel_  it somehow. 

“It’s not,” he says. “I would never do that to you." 

It comes out too-serious, utterly sincere, and Nick wants to laugh again, but instead he swallows, licks his lips to wet them and says, "Kiss me, then, Harry Styles." 

"Finally,” Harry breathes, sliding his big hand around the curve of Nick’s jaw and leaning in, and Nick flutters his eyes shut at the first press of Harry’s soft, warm mouth, and - 

The door slams open, and the closet floods with light. 

“Time’s up!” Sam chirps, and then her mouth falls open and she stares at them. 

Nick coughs. Takes a step back. 

“Thanks,” he says, and Harry wipes a hand over his mouth. 

“Yeah, thanks, Sam,” he says, flatly, and Sam shoots Nick a  _look_ , wide-eyed and excited, and takes a step back. 

“Sorry to interrupt!” she says, delightedly. Harry tugs Nick out by the hand, and a couple people whoop. Lou’s watching them carefully over her drink. 

“Alright,” Nick says, clapping awkwardly. “Ah, well, hope we weren’t too loud. Harry got  _quite_ shouty during round two, didn’t you, Haz?" 

He laughs weakly, and Harry prods at his back, pointedly, nods toward the kitchen. 

"Just going to grab, uh, a drink,” Nick says. “Go on without me." 

Harry follows him in, as Nick grabs an open bottle of wine. He was lying about the drink, but fuck it, as long as it’s there in front of him. 

"Tell them to leave,” Harry says, pouting at him, taking the bottle out of Nick’s hand and taking a gulp. 

In the light of his kitchen this all seems a bit sillier, a bit more tenuous. 

“We don’t have to, honestly,” Nick says, grabbing the wine back. “I mean. Are you pissed?" 

Harry’s face shifts from pouty to confused to annoyed. 

"I want to,” he says. “You bleeding idiot. I’ve wanted it for  _ages_. Don’t back out now." 

And that’s- oh. 

For ages. For ages?  _How_? 

"Me too,” Nick says, before he can overthink it, and it comes out like a sneeze or something, sudden and unexpected. “The wanting it bit, I mean." 

Harry’s eyes light up, and Nick takes another swig of the wine, watching him, suddenly dizzied by the idea.  

"We’re doing this, for real, aren’t we?” he says, loose-lipped from alcohol, but Harry just dimples at him, takes the wine back and leans forward, kisses him. 

“If you kick them out of your house in the next ten minutes, then yes, we’re doing this,” he says, and he sets his teeth into Nick’s bottom lip, pulls back with a grin. “I’ll be in the bedroom." 

"You’re a - oh, you’re a brat,” Nick calls, when Harry disappears out of the kitchen. “You’re a-”

“Everything okay?” Sam says, popping her head in, and Nick nearly drops the entire bottle of wine on the tile floor. 

“Fine!” he says, high in his throat. “Um. I’m actually feeling a bit poorly? Might turn in." 

"Where’s Harry?” Sam asks, cocking her head, and Nick actually  _feels_  his whole neck flush red. 

“Um,” he says, and her eyes light up. 

“Ohh,” she says. 

“Er-" 

"Ohhhhhh,” she repeats. “Oh, my god. Grimmy! You  _dog_." 

"Thanks, I guess,” Nick says, gesturing with the wine. “You know. Job well done and all that." 

"You owe me for  _life_ ,” she says, snorting. 

“Yes, yes,” Nick mutters. “But right now Harry’s in my bed and I’d rather like to attend to that, if you don’t mind?" 

He makes his voice sharp, but she just laughs. No one’s bloody intimidated by him. It’s a bit depressing.  

"God, I’m good at this,” she says, smugly. “Anyway. Night, Grim. Have fun. Do you have condoms?" 

"Good  _night_ , Samantha,” Nick says firmly, and when she ducks out again, giggling, he puts a hand over his eyes, tips the wine bottle up to his mouth. Jesus Christ. 

–

They clear out in a minute- she  _is_  good, Nick’s not denying it- and Nick heaves a sigh as he locks the door behind them. 

“Nick?” Harry calls, voice echoey from two rooms away. “Can you hurry?" 

"Needy,” Nick grumbles to himself, surveying the mess that is his living room and despairing over the amount of cleaning he’ll have tomorrow, and then he remembers- oh, fuck, Harry wants to have  _sex_  with him. 

He doesn’t run to his bedroom, but it’s a close thing. 

When he opens the door he nearly bites off his own tongue. 

Harry’s sitting up against the headboard, in just pants. He’s grinning up at Nick, and Nick can see the half-hard line of his prick, defined under the fabric. 

“Bit forward, aren’t you?” Nick says, dazed, walking towards him. He’s drunk, a bit, and it’s embarrassing, but his mouth’s fair  _watering_  at the thought of sucking Harry’s cock. The back of his neck is prickling, and he wants to put his face down between Harry’s thighs, spend hours down there, tasting every inch of him - 

Jesus Christ, Grimshaw. Get it together. 

“C'mere,” Harry says. He puts a palm over his cock, presses down a little, and his red mouth opens in a soft little gasp. “C'mere, Nick." 

Nick wants to hold off, just for the principle of the thing, but he can’t. It’s like a magnet, the way he crawls onto the bed towards Harry, feeling needy and slutty with it, not even taking his clothes off first. 

"Can I suck your prick, darling?” he says, running his hands up the solid muscle of Harry’s lovely long thighs, against the grain of hair. “Would that be alright?" 

Harry twitches under his hands, slips down the headboard so he’s mostly on his back on the bed. 

"Please,” he says, and it comes out breathless. “Please, Nick." 

Nick drops his head, noses against the line of Harry, hard in his shorts. He smells incredible, the faint hint of cologne and the salty tang of sweat and below it, the scent of Harry himself, rich, musky. Nick inhales hard, feels himself go dizzy with it.

There’s a spot of precome leaking through the pants, and Nick presses the flat of his tongue to it, relishes the way Harry shudders all through his body. 

"Nick,” Harry chokes out. “Don’t tease." 

Nick looks up at him. He’ll tease some other time, just so Harry can feel the good in it; there’s something to be said for waiting a bit to come, until you’re shaking. Until you’re begging. 

But that can wait. Harry’s stretched out beneath him, hard and wanting, and Nick wants to take care of him. 

"Alright, love,” he says, comfortingly, and carefully stretches the band of Harry’s pants down. Harry’s cock slaps against his belly, leaking another drip of precome, and Nick grins slow. 

_This_. This is the shit he likes. 

He licks at the tip, slipping his palm around Harry’s shaft and tipping it up to his mouth. He loses a minute there, just licking around the head, working his tongue under Harry’s foreskin, getting acquainted. 

Maybe that’s teasing, though. From the way Harry’s whining above him, he doesn’t seem to mind. But Nick takes pity on him. 

“Going to come for me, love?” he says, around the head of Harry’s cock. “Come in my mouth, Harry, I want to taste you." 

With that he ducks his head down, and Harry lets out a choked groan when Nick tightens his throat. 

It only takes him a minute, then, and Nick lifts his head after, heaves out a breath, swallowing a couple times. His forehead is sweating, and he palms at it with one hand. It’s hard work, that. But the best kind of work. 

"Good lad,” he says, kissing Harry’s hip, the soft skin there. “What if Sam had walked in on us doing _that_  in the closet, eh?" 

Harry’s hips give a futile little twitch and he laughs, hoarsely. 

"She’d love it, the pervert,” he says, and then beckons for Nick with a hand. “Come up here. Want to suck you." 

Nick sits up, and Harry laughs. 

"Have you still got your kit on?” he says, all morbid and low, his face flushed pink, his eyes sparkling. He looks intensely fuckable, but then that’s for another night as well. 

Nick looks down at himself, laughs. “We’re not all nudists." 

"Get naked,” Harry says, kicking his hip. “And come up here and put your cock in my mouth before I fall asleep." 

"What a romantic,” Nick breathes, wrestling his shirt off, standing up and undoing his jeans. When he’s naked he crawls up, lies himself out atop Harry and gives him a kiss. 

“Hi,” he says, into Harry’s mouth, feeling the solid warmth of Harry’s angular body below him. “We’re doing this." 

Harry smiles at him, licking his bottom lip. "Seems like." 

Nick’s hard, in a pleasant far-off sort of way. He’s quite content right here, rocking against Harry’s hip. 

"I honestly thought you were taking the piss,” he says. 

Harry kisses him slow and lingering. 

“Wouldn’t,” he breathes into Nick’s mouth. “Hey, let me suck you off." 

Nick draws in a quick breath, sits up, and Harry taps his bottom lip. 

"Come up here,” he says. “I’m lazy. This is how I like it." 

He’s a bloody child, he shouldn’t know how he likes it- but then Nick’s not going to begrudge the popstar his sexual experience, even though Nick at nineteen was in no position to be telling blokes how he liked it. He took it whichever way it came, back then. 

He smiles down at Harry, at once unreasonably fond and the tiniest bit envious. 

"You’re so lovely,” he says, running his hand over Harry’s chest. “You really are." 

Harry smiles big back at him. "Let me show you,” he says, sitting up a bit. “How lovely my mouth is." 

"Oh, alright,” Nick laughs, taking the hint, and he carefully lifts Harry’s head up and feeds his cock into that plush, pink, waiting mouth. Harry moans around him, goes deep straightaway, shameless and easy. 

The angle’s a bit odd but it bloody  _works_ \- Nick craned over him, Harry sucking as deep as he can with his head lifted, his mouth bobbing up and down. Nick’s got to do some of it himself, push his cock into Harry’s throat, and the motion of it makes him even harder. He can feel himself twitch precome into Harry’s mouth. Harry swallows around him. 

“Fuck, that’s nice,” Nick gasps, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair, and Harry groans low at the tug, the head of Nick’s cock pressing up against the wet soft flesh of Harry’s throat in a way that makes him curse and come immediately, in hot pulses that leave him shaking. 

He falls back, boneless, and Harry lifts his head to swallow, looking blissed-out and happy. Nick uses his last little bit of energy to snug himself up against Harry’s side, collapse his head onto Harry’s chest. 

“Well,” he says, and Harry says, “Shh." 

"What?” Nick laughs. 

“Shhh,” Harry repeats, kissing the top of his head. “Just thinking. About this." 

Nick falls silent, draws his finger down the hard line of bone between Harry’s pecs. Traces his tattoos for a minute. 

"Alright,” Harry says, letting out a sigh. “Sorry. Just needed a minute." 

"You’re an odd one,” Nick mumbles, and Harry twists his neck into a kiss, sucking at Nick’s bottom lip gently between his own. 

“You like it,” he says, and sits up suddenly, tugs Nick’s hand. “Let’s brush teeth." 

It feels companionable, in front of Nick’s mirror, Nick passing his toothbrush over to Harry when he’s done with it, splashing water over his face and rubbing in his night cream. It feels easy, like they’ve done it before - maybe because they have, once or twice, but never after they’ve both gotten off in the other’s mouth. 

That part’s never happened. 

"When are we going to tell her, then?” Nick says quietly a minute later when they’re sorted, stroking the hair off Harry’s face. Harry’s lying pliant and soft in bed, one long leg sprawled out to the side. Nick’s lying on his side next to him, and it’s weird, he can’t stop  _touching_  him. Harry’s just so soft, is the thing. Soft and squeezable and pettable and warm. Like a human stress ball. Or something more romantic than that.

“Hm?” Harry says sleepily, nudging up against Nick’s hand like a kitten. His eyes are closed.

“Sam, and the rest,” Nick clarifies. “When are we going to tell her?" 

"We’ll tell her at our wedding,” Harry says, and Nick nearly chokes on his own tongue. His hand pops out of Harry’s hair.

Harry’s eyes pop open, and a grin spreads across his face. “I’m  _joking_." 

"You - can’t just. God,” Nick manages to say, tongue thick in his mouth. “Oh god. You’re terrible." 

"You fancy me anyhow,” Harry says cheerily, and it’s another thing that should make Nick take pause, but instead he just leans forward, kisses down the bridge of Harry’s nose, down to the soft curve of his mouth. 

“I’ll tell Matt not to air it,” he says. “But you’ll have to do another with me, soon. Alright?" 

"Can’t we air the other bits,” Harry says, kissing Nick again, chasing his mouth. “And leave it at that?" 

Nick considers that. "Hm. Maybe. I’ll ask Fincham. But- we’re agreed? We’re taking this to the grave?" 

"Won’t tell if you won’t,” Harry says, with a sweet twist of a smirk, and Nick kisses right over it.

“Alright, popstar,” he says, breathing out against Harry’s lips. Harry opens his eyes, dark and deep, and Nick thinks-  _at our wedding_. Thinks -  _oh god, this is it for me_. 

“It’s a deal,” he breathes, and Harry tugs him down, and Nick falls asleep grateful. 


End file.
